The Softest Things
by Zagury
Summary: Things had always had a soft feel to Harry when he held them between his fingers.


_~*~ All I did was listen to __this song__ while I wrote this. ~*~_

Things had always had a soft feel to Harry when he held them between his fingers. Sometimes certain textures were rougher, coarser than others, but there was only one fabric he'd owned that was always soft, no matter what. He had six Weasley items now, all the same yarn, knitted by the same hands with the same care. Nothing felt that soft under his hands, nothing felt so right and safe and secure.

He would never admit it to anyone, which is why he likes to revel in his artifacts when he's alone. Sometimes Neville will catch him staring out the window with his homemade hat in his lap, but Neville never says anything and just carries on his way. Harry appreciates that.

It happens often when he's particularly uncomfortable or lonely, unable to sleep or there's too much on his sixteen year-old mind. After his lessons with Snape last year, he used to take his first sweater and stare at it, remembering how little he was (there was no way he'd be able to fit in the thing now) and the wool is worn down to a perfect state. It's simple and when the world gets too hectic for Harry Potter, he finds that running his fingers over a simple gold H is just the right cure.

"What're you doing?" asks a soft voice from his doorway. He jumps, startled, but he knows there's no use in hiding the clothing since she's already seen it. He knows that voice, has become rather familiar with it this year. Harry turns and faces the red hair, the freckles, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans her shoulder against the wall. A small smile is playing upon her lips.

"It's nothing." Harry replies, folding his treasure and stowing it back in his trunk. "How did you get in here?"

"Hermione's taught me a thing or two since Dean." Ginny explains easily, moving to sit down next to him. He feels his face flush at the mention of his roommate and the thought of her sneaking up here to—

"Don't be jealous." She smirks. "I never came in here at night." She leans back against his bedpost and brings her knees up to her chest.

"Does it work the same for the girls dormitory?" Harry asks, his hands fiddling with themselves in his lap. He's been alone with Ginny before, but they don't usually talk about Dean or protective wards.

"I don't think so. I think the school understands that girls have a bit more sense when it comes to these things. If a girl wants to go snog her boyfriend on her consent, then I think that's fair, don't you?" But he can tell by the air in her voice that she doesn't intend for him to answer. She stares out the window, her fingers messing with themselves like his hands, and he realizes that she doesn't know why they're talking about this either.

"I'm sorry about Dumbledore, Harry." She says quietly, but she isn't looking at him like he'll break or he'll throw something or he'll go storming out of the castle. (These are the looks he receives now, and they really do scare him.) Ginny just gives him that easy, soft look that she gave him often during the summer. She didn't offer to talk about Sirius, didn't push him to talk about it, and he liked that. Things were so simple with her.

"S'alright," he says, but he doesn't know what to say or how to look at her. She lost a headmaster as well, and yet, she was the only one who was strong enough to hold him, to come up here and talk to him about it. Ron and Hermione had already, but they were the exception; he talked about everything with them and the death of Dumbledore was certainly nothing to be overturned. Seamus, Dean, even Neville, they had all avoided him for the last several days and against all the anger and grief he was fighting, that strong feeling of loneliness was overpowering everything else.

"I think," Harry continues slowly, "that it will be easier once I leave."

Ginny gives a little laugh, a little smile. Her gaze flitters between his face and the window while she speaks, "I knew you wouldn't be coming back."

He just looks at her, waiting for her explanation.

"You haven't any reason to stay." She says, but she's fine, she's just as casual as she would be if they were discussing Quidditch like they did all the time. "You've got things to do. Why stay here and put everything on delay?"

He puts a hand on her knee to silence her, but she says a little hurriedly, "I was just hoping it would last longer." There's only a hint of sadness in her eyes, her features are too normal, her voice a shade shakier than what it would be usually, but when he tugs on her legs she complies without thought. She leans her head on his shoulder and he hears a faint sniff come from her.

"Ginny…" he starts, but he doesn't know where to start, and that's always been the problem. "I don't know what to tell you."

She's silent for a long while, her arms around his neck and her head ducked into his shoulder. He has one arm around her middle, hugging her closer, and one hand stroking the skin of her forearm, where her sleeves are pulled up to her elbows. She does have nice skin, it was never a lie.

"That's better than breaking up with me, I s'pose." She finally says with a small smile in her voice. Relief flooded Harry's face and he was almost glad she couldn't see him.

"Good. I wanted to give you summer."

Ginny lifts her head and smile at him, and after she kisses him, he notices the faded gold H in the middle of her sweater. He flattens his hand on her back, his fingers stroking her skin again and again and again, and still, he will never tire of such a feeling.

"Summer sounds wonderful." She answers, and just before he closes his eyes to meet her lips again, he sees a simple red scarf with a perfectly embodied G lying in the top of his trunk.


End file.
